


A Taste of Home

by amantegufi711



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: AU but not really AU, Chicago Cubs, M/M, Romantic Dream, Schmoop, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amantegufi711/pseuds/amantegufi711
Summary: A long time ago, two men far from home meet in a small town...





	A Taste of Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request-fic. I have no idea what happened to the person who requested it, but if they're out there and stumble across it again, well...hope you still like it. :-) Also, the particular ballplayers in it haven't been on the Cubs for a long time; in fact, they're both quite retired as far as I know. But they were almost as adorable as Bryzzo back in the day, and I was a huge fan, so...here's an "old-school" pairing.

It was a hot and windy day in a small town near the edge of the Sonoran Desert. Blowing dustdevils, tumbleweeds drifting by, the shimmering of the air in the merciless sun; unless they had no choice, anyone with any sense was inside. A lone, drab figure on a horse, dressed in tans and browns, made his way down the main road to the town's only saloon. Hitching up his horse, he ducked inside, sighing with relief as he finally escaped the merciless sun that had been baking him all morning.

The man was short, with dark brown hair and eyes, a square face and strong chin. He had the weatherbeaten skin of someone who worked outdoors all his life. He went straight to the bar.

After a moment or two, the barkeep deigned to look at the newcomer. "What'll you be havin'?" he grunted.

"Whiskey, straight up." The barkeep nodded and went to work.

As he waited for his drink, the newcomer cast a casual glance around, looking for any potential trouble or opportunities to show themselves. Oddly enough, he didn't see much of either until he spotted a man even shorter than him over in a corner. Blond and blue-eyed, he seemed to have some kind of familiarity to the newcomer, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. His train of thought was interrupted by the return of the barkeep with his drink. The newcomer drained it in one gulp.

"Another?"

"You bet." It had been a hell of of long ride from the last town, and he was sick of lukewarm water from his canteen. He'd been daydreaming about a proper drink for the last five hours. Speaking of which...

"Hey, you have any absinthe?"

The barkeep looked at him like he'd grown six heads. "Do I have any what, now?"

"Aaab-sinthe. It's really strong, kind of green lookin'? Something from home. I ain't found any since about the middle of Texas; it's drivin' me nuts."

"Mister, I ain't even heard of the stuff, let alone seen it. You'd be lucky if I had wine in this establishment on any given day, let alone whatever it is you're asking for. How's about some rum or something like that?"

Sighing, he realized he'd probably never have a date with the "green fairy" ever again, unless his luck changed and he could return home with some money. The way said luck was going, it was highly unlikely. "Rum and I don't get along very well. Scotch, neat."

"All right. Any old thing, or some of the good stuff?"

"Any old thing's fine." And off the barkeep went to get the rotgut.

Turning around to lean against the bar, the newcomer started slightly when he saw that the blond from the corner had come up to stand next to him. He hadn't even heard him approach.

"Howdy."

"Hi." Being approached like this tended to make the newcomer nervous.

"I couldn't help but overhear you asking for absinthe."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, you're the first person I've seen in a long time who even knows what the hell it is."

As the blond spoke, the newcomer realized why he seemed to be familiar. This man was from home; the accent was unmistakeable.

_"Vous êtes de Lou'siana?"_

The blond's mouth lifted up in a lopsided smile. _"Oui, j'sus. Comment saviez-vous?"_

__

__

_"L'accent vous a révélé. Et sans oublier que vous savez qu'est ce que l'absinthe. Personne que j'ai rencontré dans mes voyages sait qu'est-qu'il est!"_

The blond sighed. _"Ah, la fée verte. On la manquons, vraiment?"_

__

__

_"Oui, on la manquons,"_ he replied, noticing the blond's use of the word "we". He seemed like the trusting sort, just like everyone back home. The newcomer ruefully remembered how his experience during his travels had pretty much crushed that spirit right out of him; how had this man avoided losing it?

Switching back to English, he continued, "So, where the hell am I, mon ami?"

"You're in the town of Desert Junction. Name's Mike, by the way Mike Fontenot."

"Ryan, Ryan Theriot. You know, this is the seventh town I've come to this year named Desert Junction."

Mike laughed. "Hell, I counted eleven before I got to this one. Guess it's a better name than 'Town', huh?"

"Yeah, it is. Hey, what's to do around here?"

"As in work, or play?"

"Work. That's what I'm here for."

"Well, what do you do?"

"All sorts of stuff. Ranching, horsing, carpentry, mining; hell, I can cook if it comes down to it."

"Oh, tell me you can cook up some nice Cajun grub. I'd pay you real money, I really would." The look in Mike's eye was dead serious.

"You'd really pay me for a home-cooked meal?"

_"Sans doute. Allons."_

__

__

***

_"Oh mon Dieu, quel bon repas._ You're a better cook than you think, Ryan."

Ryan smiled and blushed with gratitude. It was a challenge, and certainly not comfortable in the small downstairs kitchen in such heat, but he'd been able to conjure up some proper Cajun food. It turned out Mike knew someone who grew tomatoes, green peppers and chiles and had some rice and salt pork tucked away in his modest home, so Ryan had been able to make something akin to gumbo, even without andouille or shrimp. For the both of them, it was the first real meal they'd had in a dog's age that even seemed like anything from home, and even though they'd just met, the company was quite enjoyable. Ryan hadn't met a fellow Cajun in all of his travels, and he'd been traveling a long time.

"I learned from the best. Grand-mère, of course."

"Oh, I bet your grandma could cook something fierce, Ryan. Boy, do I miss my mother's cooking. You wouldn't believe what people believe is food in these parts."

"Believe me, I know what you mean! It's like they've never heard of anything with flavor, isn't it?"

"Salt pork, jerky, potatoes, potatoes and more potatoes. Not that potatoes are so bad, mind you, but all the time? And with no herbs, or spices?"

"Tell me about it. Isn't it funny, people round here will buy all those funny lookin' bracelets and trinkets from the locals but they won't touch the veggies they have to offer. Hell, I'd skip all that turquoise crap for one ripe tomato!"

Mike laughed. "You certainly have your priorities straight, don'tcha hoss?"

Ryan smiled. "Let's just say my pursuits of fame and fortune have left me very cynical and bitter."

"Speaking of that, how did you end up here?"

Ryan looked down at the floor and sighed deeply. "You want the long or short version?"

"How long is the long version?"

Ryan chuckled. "All right, long story short: We lost our home and farm to a crooked landlord who wanted to establish a plantation and I struck out on my own to find my fortune in the West. Haven't exactly found it yet."

"You didn't want to go back when the Great War broke out?"

"And fight for the same scum who drove us from our home we'd had for almost a hundred years? To hell with that. Besides, I wanted the North to win anyway. I hated slavery."

Mike looked thoughtful. "I hated it too."

Ryan thought he heard a twinge of guilt in Mike's reply. "Enough to get the hell out of Louisiana so you didn't have to fight, right?"

Mike shot him a defensive look. "I didn't desert or anything, if that's what you're talkin' about."

"Hey, no problems here, hoss. Hell, even if you did desert I'd take your side. The War never should have started; the South had no right to secede."

"Man, you'd better be careful who you say that to; you don't want to be swingin' on some damn tree somewhere just because you couldn't keep your opinions to yourself."

Ryan scoffed. "Let 'em try. I'm pretty damn good with a revolver."

Mike smiled. "I figured you'd probably be. Good cook, good shot, hell, I bet you're good at everything you do."

Oh, now where was this going? Ryan grinned and felt a few butterflies in his stomach as he replied, "Now, just what do you mean by 'everything', Mr. Fontenot?"

He saw Mike swallow deeply as he got up from where he was sitting and approached Ryan, eyes beginning to smolder. "Well, Mr. Theriot...you tell me."

Oh, hell, wasn't this a nice little situation developing here.

Mike stood over Ryan, gazing deeply into his eyes. Ryan couldn't believe how quickly things had turned from a simple dinner with a new friend to...this. Not like he was inexperienced with these matters, but of course it usually took a lot longer to suss out whether the interest was there, let alone the willingness to act on it. How did this beautiful young blond figure it out so quickly?

Ryan didn't have any more time to think about it as Mike brought his right hand up to caress his cheek.

Actually, Ryan just plain stopped thinking as he reveled in Mike's gentle, slow touch on his face. Funny, how such callused and weather-beaten hands could feel so silken and smooth. Ryan closed his eyes and let out a soft moan, then a soft gasp as he felt Mike's breath close to his lips.

"If I were to kiss you...Ryan...would you be OK with that?" he heard Mike ask.

"Oh, Mike...I would most definitely be OK with that." He moaned again as he felt Mike's lips touch his, then yet again as he felt Mike gently probe with the tip of his tongue. Ryan wasted no time in letting Mike in, and he felt Mike slide his hands around to the back of his neck as their kisses grew more passionate. It was like Mike could read his mind; he absolutely loved it when his lovers caressed the back of his neck.

Mike gently straddled Ryan and sat down on his lap as they continued to kiss; Ryan felt himself rapidly harden as he felt Mike's legs settle on his. He felt himself awash in a haze of lust as Mike's hands roamed over his neck, his back, all the way to his hips as Mike started to gently untuck Ryan's shirt. For his part, Ryan returned caress for caress, even daring to go a little further and slide his hand down the inside of Mike's thigh.

Mike couldn't help but let out a soft yelp at that. Chuckling softly, Ryan slowly snuck his hand down even further...

"Ah! Ryan...oh my God..."

"You like that, do you?"

"Oh, you bet I do. No one does it better than a Cajun boy, that's what my maman always said..."

"You had a wise maman, Mike." Ryan's magic hand was working its way into Mike's trousers, looking for that special spot...maybe, right there--

All of a sudden Mike's eyes flew open and he let out a mighty huff as pleasure raced across every nerve in his body.

"Ryan...I gotta...I need to..."

Everything shattered in a barrage of unholy noise.

Trying to orient himself, Ryan realized he was lying in a bed, next to someone's warm, comforting form. Thinking that he'd somehow blacked out during their lovemaking, he figured that the noise was ringing in his head. Opening his eyes, Ryan looked around to regain his bearings.

To his surprise, he wasn't in Mike's modest rented room anymore. However, Mike was sleeping soundly next to him in a luxurious bed, in a similarly luxurious bedroom with momentarily unfamiliar furnishings.

As Ryan's mind cleared up from sleep, he realized that the noise was an alarm clock, and that he and Mike hadn't been about to make love in a rented room back in the Old West.

It had all been a dream. A lovely dream, but still a dream. Damn.

"mmmwouldyaturnoffthealarmclockdamnit"

The alarm clock had finally woken Fonty from his normally catatonic morning state. Ryan finally reached over and shut the thing off.

Still reeling from the intensity of the dream, Ryan turned over to wrap his arms around Mike.

Mike stirred, sensing something odd. "Wha...what's wrong, Riot?"

"Had an intense dream, Fonty. I was back in the Old West...I met you in some saloon and we went off together to hang out and have gumbo."

Mike smiled even though his eyes were still closed. "Always making that Cajun connection, even in our dreams."

"You said it, Fonty. Anyway, we got to makin' love real quick, and damn if that fuckin' alarm clock didn't wake me up right at the good part!"

"Oh, that sucks, dude. I hate it when that happens. How good a dream was it?"

"Fonty, you were in cowboy clothes. We were speaking Cajun French to each other and stuff; it was like my own personal porn fantasy with you. I feel like breaking that alarm clock into a million pieces."

"Hey, hey, no need to waste a perfectly good alarm clock...I'm right here, in the flesh. We can't act out that dream right now?"

Ryan felt himself stir at the thought. "You up for it, _mon chou?"_

"How about you feel if I'm up for it?" Mike replied, guiding Ryan's hand downward.

"Oh, I see you're...up for it, all right," Ryan growled softly.

"Anytime, buddy," Mike purred. "So, how'd this dream start out?"

"Well, I'd been riding a horse for about nine hours or so and--"

"Dude, nine hours?? How were you able to walk, let alone make love to me later?"

"Fonty, come on, it was a dream! I guess I had magical recuperation powers or something; it just happened. Anyway, I got into--"

"Oh, another thing, you didn't call me chou in the dream, did you? Cause that sounds ridiculous in French and in English, and I really wish you'd find another--"

All of a sudden Fonty found himself unable to speak as Ryan covered his mouth with his own. A few moments later, Ryan broke the kiss and asked, "Are you finished interrupting me now?"

Mike blushed. "Sorry, Riot. Go on."

"That's my Fonty. Anyway, I got into this little town, and saw the saloon, and of course I was pretty thirsty so I needed a drink. I walked in and ordered whiskey, and while I was lookin' around to see what was up, I saw you in the corner, just hangin' out. But of course, you just happened to look up and even though I didn't know you in the dream, you looked familiar, cause it ended up I knew you were a Cajun anyway."

"Aw, Ryan," Mike smiled.

"And then after another whiskey, I asked the bartender for absinthe, cause I had been away from Louisiana for so long, and he'd never heard of it so he said he'd get me a Scotch instead. So I turned around and you were there next to me all of a sudden, and you said you overheard me asking for absinthe. When I heard you talk in the dream, all of a sudden I realized you were Cajun and I started talking to you in French, and you were all happy and talking back to me in French too..."

_"J'souhais que t'me parlerais plus souvent en français. T'ne le parle pas assez a mois."_

Ryan raised his eyebrows in surprise. _"Eh bien, t'veux que j't'parle de plus en français? On peut l'arranger..."_

"That's what I love about you, _bébé;_ you always have my best interests at heart."

"Best interests, huh? How about you indulge my best interests by letting me finish telling you about this dream?" The smile on Ryan's face could only be called devilish as he stroked Mike's jawline.

"Oh, do go on, _mon cher_. Do go on."

the end

**Author's Note:**

> Author's addenda:
> 
> Here are the translations of the attempts at Cajun French (which is surprisingly similar to mainstream French, save for a few things):
> 
> _"Vous êtes de Lou'siana?"_  
>  "You're from Louisiana?"
> 
> _"Oui, j'sus. Comment saviez-vous?"_  
>  "Yes, I am. How'd you know?"
> 
> _"L'accent vous a révélé. Et sans oublier que vous savez qu'est ce que l'absinthe. Personne que j'ai rencontré dans mes voyages sait qu'est-qu'il est!"_  
>  "Your accent gave you away. Not to mention you know what absinthe is; I haven't met anyone in all my travels who's ever heard of it!"
> 
> _"Ah, la fée verte. On la manquons, vraiment?"_  
>  _"Oui, on la manquons,"_  
>  "Ah, the 'green fairy'. We miss it, right?"  
> "Yes, we miss it."
> 
>  
> 
> _"Sans doute. Allons."_  
>  _"Oh mon Dieu, quel bon repas."_
> 
>  "Absolutely. Let's go."  
> "Oh my God, what a good meal."
> 
> _mon chou_ ="my dear" (literally "my cabbage")
> 
> _"J'souhais que t'me parlerais plus souvent en français. T'ne le parle pas assez a mois."_  
>  "I wish you'd speak to me in French more often. You never speak it enough to me."
> 
> _"Eh bien, t'veux que j't'parle de plus en français? On peut l'arranger..."_  
>  "Well well, you want me to speak French to you more often? I can arrange that..."
> 
> I honestly have no idea whether Fonty or the Riot know any Cajun French or not, but artistic license, don't you know. And I'm taking a little more license with the absinthe thing, but if you need a cultural shibboleth for a dream sequence, that's got to be a rather effective one, no?


End file.
